When in Thedas
by Cassie's Bedlam
Summary: Third in my self-insert series. She had died again, too many times to count, and now she was in Thedas. She had always expected to end up here eventually and strangely she was almost happy to be here. Future Blight, Kirkwall, Mage vs Templar War, Breach and who knows what else? Brilliant. Yeah, she was messed up in the head. But who wouldn't be in her place?
1. Chapter 1

_**"There are men that struggle against destiny, and yet achieve only an early grave. There are men who flee destiny, only to have it swallow them whole. And there are men who embrace destiny, and do not show their fear. These are the ones that change the world forever." - Flemeth.**_

* * *

><p>Flemeth pursed her lips as she peered down at the young girl tucked into her bed, only looking a couple years older than her own Morrigan but much like Flemeth, herself, this girl, this woman-child, wasn't as young as she looked though not through the same method as Flemeth used.<p>

Accidental immortality, it was almost amusing that this woman-child would unlock a type of immortality without trying. How many men and women had strived for everlasting life? How many Demons had made pacts with foolish mortals who feared Death and coveted more Life then the Gods allotted them? How many daughters had _she_ sacrificed to keep her own immortality? How many elves yearned for their old immortality? And yet, this woman-child had become immortal by chance, by accident.

"Mother?"

She glanced over her shoulder to see Morrigan standing in front of the door of their hut, her golden eyes were fixed on the girl tucked in the bed.

"Who is she?" Morrigan frowned slightly.

"A complication," Flemeth muttered as she returned her own golden gaze to the sleeping girl. "A tempest mistaken as a breeze, she could change everything but will she? We will have to see."

This woman-child could either hinder or aid her, Flemeth would just have to wait and see which path she would choose.

* * *

><p><em>Truthfully, I had expected to end up here one day. If there was one fiction I had become obsessed fully with it was the Dragon Age series. I loved it, I loved the stories, the characters. I had simply loved it, in all my lives that it came out in I had played it loads. <em>

_So despite knowing the utter pile of shit that was going to hit the fan in the future, I was as pleased as punch—yeah, that saying doesn't really suit me, does it?—because I was totally in love with Dragon Age._

_Yeah, yeah, I'm screwed up in the head._

* * *

><p>Their unexpected guest was gone, the blanket thrown back and the bed cold where she had slept.<p>

Morrigan glanced around, there wasn't really anywhere for their guest to hide which meant she had left the safety of the hut. She scowled, what a foolish girl, and pushed herself to her feet, pausing only to wrap her wolf-skin blanket around her, before padding her way softly to the door and opened it slightly so she could peer out.

Mist curled and crept up pale long legs like questing fingers, an oversized tunic—from one of Mother's old bed partner—fluttered around her thighs. One shoulder was bare, the sleeve sliding down her shoulder, and her arms were crossed under her budding chest, not tightly out of cold but as if that was how she found it most comfortable holding them that way. Rich brown hair wavered in the cool pre-morning breeze and one slender hand reached up to tuck the pesky locks behind one round ear.

"I know you're there," the other girl called out, not even glancing back at Morrigan and she scowled as she left the relative warmth of her home and across the damp grass to where the girl stood staring out at the little river that trickled around her home.

"'Tis most foolish to stay out in the cold," Morrigan informed her with a proud tilt to her chin.

A ghost of a smile curled at the other girl's lips, dark eyes glancing down at her almost in amusement.

"It is more foolish to follow said fool out into the cold," she countered and Morrigan scowled, she half-turned to go back to the hut and let the stupid fool freeze when she spoke again; "Thank you for your concern."

Morrigan glanced back, a glare hardening her golden gaze; "I was not concerned!"

"Of course," the smile was back, quirking one side of her mouth higher so her smile looked crooked. "My mistake."

"I just didn't want all of Mother's work to go to waste because you were foolish enough to catch your death of cold," Morrigan snapped and continued to glare, the other girl laughed lightly.

It wasn't the giggle that she had heard the girls in Lothering give, nor was it the cackle that Flemeth liked to let loose. It was just a simple laugh, a chuckle. There was nothing false about it, she wasn't self-conscious about actually laughing instead of giggling because apparently that was more lady-like, it wasn't a laugh that was meant to intimidate like Flemeth's nor was it like the echoing eerie laughs that Flemeth let loose when they hunted Templars stupid enough to enter their Wilds and attempt to hunt them.

It was an honest laugh, something that Morrigan was unused too, and she liked it and liked its inherent warmth that made her blush lightly—to her mortification—and making the other girl's smile become warmer somehow.

"I don't like being cooped up," the girl told her almost idly. "I'll be back in soon, I promise."

"I do not care what you do," Morrigan sniffed as she drew her wolf-skin closer and began to make her way back, she paused just at the door and glanced back at the back of the girl's head. "What is your name?"

There was a beat of silence and Morrigan almost huffed in irritation that she wasn't going to get an answer when;

"Kiara,"

* * *

><p>"Kiara, huh?"<p>

Kiara didn't even stiffen in surprise as she glanced at the older woman, white hair cascaded down her straight back, shoulders set, and she was dressed rather simply with actual shoes as she stepped out of the shadows—Morrigan hadn't even sensed her. Flemeth, the Witch of the Wilds, Mythal.

Of course she would end up with Flemeth, the Gods truly loved to make her life difficult.

"I think it suits me," she said, her tone casual. "Don't you?"

Flemeth hummed slightly as she stood next to her, her golden gaze fixed to the Wilds that surrounded them.

"Names are pretty things, but ultimately useless," Flemeth said and Kiara could understand where she was coming from, how many names had Flemeth gained through the years? How many names had Kiara gained throughout her numerous lives? Too many was the honest answer, but they had their uses.

"Not totally useless," Kiara disagreed. "Stops people just randomly shouting 'hey, you!' and expecting you to stop."

Flemeth cackled, actually cackled instead of chuckling or laughing, and something cold went down her back. Kiara decided that Flemeth's cackle was a lot more unnerving in person than watching and hearing it through a TV.

"True, true," Flemeth agreed, an echo of the cackle underlining her words.

There was a lull then, a long silence that crackled with tension. Both were mostly aware of what the other one was, both were deadly in their own way (Flemeth though had the upper hand, she had magic and a body that she was used too while Kiara only could rely of her experience in fighting and hadn't had the chance to adapt to her new body which would lead to mistakes and ultimately her death) and both were unsure of the other.

Kiara knew that Flemeth could easily kill her, but for some reason the other woman was hesitating.

"I'm not sure what to do with you," Flemeth finally admitted, a frown creasing her face.

"Not sure whether to kill me or not," Kiara expanded lightly, Death had never truly scared her and after so many different deaths or almost-should-be-deaths, it had become more annoying than anything else.

"Quite," Flemeth agreed, glancing down at Kiara with golden eyes.

There was a tint of green to her eyes, Kiara noticed, that Morrigan didn't share.

"I know what you are, who you are," Kiara corrected herself and was aware of the tension in Flemeth's frame and the almost static feel to the air that she supposed was Flemeth's magic preparing to strike her down, it raised the hair on her arms and the back of her neck and something, someone, in the back of her head was screaming: 'DANGER! DANGER! BACK AWAY!' "I know you have a plan of some sort, I know you fight against the Blights and your plan has something to do with dragons, and perhaps The People."

Kiara paused and licked her lips, mind going back to the forums that she had read and the theories that people had come up with and bounced around. The lore that was discussed and dissected, pieced back together. Some of the theories were brilliant, they made sense, while others were simply amusing.

"I think it's got something to do with the Black City," she continued though slightly uncertain. "I think you, Mythal, had something to do with it and something—someone—is sealed up there that you want to keep there."

The Black City was real, they all knew that and had accepted that. Some people accepted that the Maker was real in Thedas while others believed that it had something to do with the elven gods—though they were unsure if they were actual gods or just really powerful spirits or had been very powerful mages—and the Maker was one of them or being impersonated by one of them or something evil or whatever. Most agreed that there had to be_ something_ in the Black City, there had to be a reason why so many people became obsessed with it.

"I think that person almost killed Mythal," she added and glanced up at Flemeth's face to see it unreadable. "I think you know who was behind the Blights because it wasn't the Magisters, they may have brought it down to Thedas, in a more obvious way, but it was here before that. I think that the person trapped in the Black City is responsible for the Blights."

Red lyrium had proved that, the old Thaig proved that. If you listened or read the lore then you would realise that the Taint came before the First Blight, some even had thought that Andruil, Elven Goddess of the Hunt, was the partially responsible for the Taint.

In the stories, Andruil had gone mad from hunting the Forgotten Ones and plague had made her lands suffer—some thought that was the first record of the Taint. She had been stopped by Mythal and sealed away, her memories of the Void taken. But because she was a woman, they didn't think it was her in the Black City as most used Sandal's prophecy as a basis.

And Sandal was clear it was a He, the Maker was a He and the Old Gods were all males so ergo, whoever was in the Black City was male, able to influence the minds of people through the Fades—she had read one theory that connected all that, and had even suggested that the Magisters had heard the person sealed away and He had pretended to be Dumat and the other Old Gods to lure them into the Black City.

But there wasn't enough knowledge, enough lore, to make concrete theories about all those things and that frustrated her because she didn't know enough to know all of Flemeth's plans, what she was aiming for in the end, what Solas will be aiming for in the future. It had something to do with the elves, it had something to do with the Fade, with the Blights, with whatever was in the Black City.

All she knew that it was a reckoning, it involved some type of betrayal—Thedas' history was filled with betrayal—and Solas and Flemeth were working towards the same thing and were friends.

"I don't know all of it," she admitted. "I don't think I'll ever be able to trust you," she paused to let out a long sigh. "But I don't think I'll attempt to infer with your plans, I don't think you're about to destroy all of Thedas, and I don't know exactly what you have planned and, frankly, I don't want to know. I'm not getting involved."

Flemeth hummed slightly, a humourless smile curling her lips.

"You are here now," Flemeth told her. "You're already involved."

"I'm not the Hero though," Kiara pointed out and Flemeth actually grinned at her.

"Neither am I, but we have our own parts to play," Flemeth said almost wisely. "We will have to see what your part will be."

"Joy," Kiara said dryly and Flemeth laughed.

"I like you,"

"Joy,"

* * *

><p><em>I should have paid more attention to the lore and the theories that others had come up with, especially since most had a good basis for them. This life is going to be a headache on top of a headache. I hate my life fully, mostly—okay I was still too damn excited for the mess I had landed myself into to fully hate it.<em>

* * *

><p>"You're not staying," it was a statement not a question.<p>

"No I'm not," Kiara answered all the same as she weighed the different weapons in her hands—Flemeth had a large collection of weapons from the men she had seduced to her hut.

Part of her wanted to use one of the broad-swords just because it would be awesome and epic to carry a sword bigger than her around and it was one of the reasons so many people choose warriors class—hell that's why she did a few warrior playthroughs though she was a much better rogue or even a mage—but it wasn't logically and just a childish desire that she had long learnt to ignore.

Daggers were good weapons, good for throwing at mid-distance and great at close-distance because of how easy they were to manoeuvre so they would be good for her to keep. Bows and arrows were needed for hunting—as well as good snares and traps—and were good to snipe people off from a distance, brilliant for impersonal kills and anonymous ones so they were a keeper.

"Where are you going?" Morrigan asked though it almost sound like a demand as she watched Kiara.

"Somewhere I can earn some coin," Kiara told her, glancing up with dark eyes after testing the string of one of the bows that Flemeth had—she was thankful that Clint thought it was a crime not to know how to shoot a bow and had taught her.

She wasn't the best, she didn't have Clint's amazing skill with the bow nor was she Katniss Everdeen. But she had learnt the value of hard-work and knew she would get better with practice. She already was quite good, if she said so herself.

Morrigan frowned, Kiara had been around for almost four months and Morrigan had gotten used to her presence. It was almost nice, a welcoming change, to have someone other than Mother in her life.

It had been interesting seeing the strange exercises that Kiara forced herself to go through each morning, especially since it was obvious that Kiara wasn't a morning person, and teaching her about all the plants that Kiara would need to know about—giving her basic herbalism training which could save her life in the future.

Kiara had been surprisingly adapt to bandaging wounds, sewing up deep wounds, setting bones and popping joints back in place as well hunting. Flemeth had even taught Kiara how to tan the skins of the animals that she hunted, Kiara had an unnerving ability to walk silently, even in the Wilds, and used that to her advantage when hunting—Morrigan and Flemeth wouldn't be running out of leathers, furs or dried meats for a long while thanks to Kiara.

"You don't have to leave," the words slip out before she even realised what she had said and Morrigan flushed as Kiara looked up with a strange look that softened when Morrigan ducked her head to hide her red cheeks.

A warm hand landed on Morrigan's head, slender fingers entwining through her black locks as Kiara stood over Morrigan with her superior height.

"I have too," she began gently as Morrigan looked up through her dark fringe before a smirk twisted her features. "How else am I going to afford all the pretty jewellery to shower you in?"

Morrigan decided to bite her lip so she didn't blurt out that she didn't need jewellery to be happy if Kiara just stayed. Instead, she took a deep steadying breathe and looked up with Kiara's smirk, the red retreating from her pale cheeks.

"They best be fit for a Queen," Morrigan declared haughtily and Kiara laughed.

"Of course,"

* * *

><p><em>I had always loved Morrigan, the bitchy mage with a hidden soft side and a fucked-up past that made me want to cuddle her. <em>

_She didn't have a rose-tinted view of the world—something I hadn't had since my first childhood because I read too much and watched too much TV to pretend that the world was a paradise or even a perfectly nice place—and jaded in a way that I could understand. She could be ruthless, a trait that I had admired and could relate too—there had been little I wouldn't do to survive or to keep my loved ones safe. _

_She was as comfortable with emotions as I used to be until I learnt to bullshit my way through things, and when you got under her skin, and in her heart, she was loyal and willing to do anything for your survival. _

_She had a casual arrogance around her that reminded me of Tony in a way and of myself in others as I tried to never to outdo Tony Stark with steer arrogance and Morrigan didn't have his flair. _

_Morrigan was a survivor and a fighter, I admired her and I adored her almost as much I did gentle and awkward Alistair and Varric the ultimate bullshitter with a heart of gold and a majestic chest of hair. _


	2. Chapter 2

**_"As one of the blighters, I sodding salute you. Let us show them our hearts, and then show them theirs." - Oghren._**

* * *

><p>"You're not bad with your blades," a mug of ale was pushed in front of her. "For a human."<p>

Kiara couldn't help the smirk that curled her lips, one hand wrapping around the wooden tankard as she looked at the dwarf that had sat down across from her. Dark brown hair was braided tightly out of the round face, steel grey eyes stared at her, and a smile curved dry lips.

"You're not bad with your bow either," she paused as she took a sip of ale, she didn't grimace though she had the first time she had drunk Thedas' ales—they always had the under taste of piss and/or dirt. "For a dwarf."

The dwarf guffawed and held out a hand, thick fingers for such a small hand Kiara couldn't help but note.

"Malika," the dwarf introduced herself as Kiara took her hand as she attempted to figure out why that name ringed a bell.

"Kiara," she introduced herself in turn as she firmly shook the dwarf's hand. "So are you with the Boss? Or just another poor sap looking for coin?"

Malika laughed before she took a large gulp of ale, steel eyes crinkling up in amusement.

"Ha, nope, not some poor sap," she waved one hand dismissively before continuing on cheerfully. "I'm with the Boss, first assignment and all."

"I thought you looked a bit young," Kiara admitted as she rolled one of her aching shoulders, she had taken a job for the House Cadash, straight off that god-forsaken ship that she had taken to the Free Marches, that needed a few extra hands to clear out some rivals for their black-market future smuggling plans—at least that's what Kiara thought the reason behind the massacre was.

Dwarves knew how to put both strength and weight behind each blow so she almost got her shoulder bashed out of joint by a stupidly large warhammer.

She was lucky really, a poor sod had obviously underestimated the dwarves because of their height and paid the price in blood. Kiara didn't only remember playing as a dwarf, but she remembered the dwarves from the Hobbit so she wouldn't be underestimating anyone shorter than her, plus she been a vicious little thing when she lacked height, height meant little if you knew how to use your strengths.

The dwarves have been almost constantly at war so they knew war and battle like they knew the back of their hand.

"You could tell?" Malika almost seemed surprised before she snorted in amusement. "Most humans can't tell another races age unless they shouted it out. My Grandpa says it's because their heads are too firmly in the clouds."

"You mean too firmly up their own arses," Kiara corrected dryly into her tankard and Malika grinned at her after letting out a snigger.

Humans in Thedas seemed to be only interested in human affairs and seemed to ignore all non-humans which was so atypically human that Kiara had already been considered an oddity in the almost year that she had been in Thedas when she joined up with mostly non-human groups for a few jobs here and there.

"Too true," Malika knocked their tankards together and Kiara held hers up in silent salute as Malika downed it in three big gulps, she simply sipped hers. "Bleh, human ale is as weak as piss."

"At least it's not made out of Nug shit," Kiara commented and Malika nodded with a laugh.

"I like you," Malika informed her cheerfully and Kiara eyed her warily. "We're going to be great friends."

Shit, that sounded ominous as hell. Did Kiara ever mention how she hated cheerful people?

"Oi, Cadash!" another dwarf shouted out and the Bosses' head turn as well Malika's and Kiara almost cursed into her ale.

She had just met one of the potential Inquisitors who happened to come from the same House as Shale. Yeah, her plan on not getting involved was going down the drain even more.

* * *

><p><em>And that is how I became friends with Malika Cadash. She would be the reason behind most of the stupid shit I would get into in the future, I just knew it.<em>

* * *

><p>Just under the surface, and around almost all the Circles in Southern Thedas, were tunnels that were built especially to smuggle lyrium for the Templars in and House Cadash, a leading family in the surface Carta, knew of all of them and were happy to help their stone-born Carta kith smuggle some fresh blue lyrium in for a cut of the price.<p>

Malika hummed happily under her breathe with one hand on her one of her war axes—bows had been fun to mess around with but she was better with axes—as she walked beside Kiara, whose grip on their torch was surprisingly tight which matched the grip on her drawn sword.

"What's wrong with you?" she asked with just a hint of concern colouring her tone and Kiara glanced down, her eyes looking like onyx in the dim light.

She had heard that some humans didn't like being underground, that they actually thought the tunnels were just suddenly going to collapse without warning and bury them. But she had never thought Kiara would be one of them as she seemed to easily trust the workmanship of dwarves.

"Do you know what makes a home underground?" Kiara asked tightly, dark eyes resuming their constant wary watch of the shadows as they protected the rear of the group.

"Deep-stalkers?" Malika asked and Kiara shook her head, an unhappily slant to her face. "Darkspawn?"

"Giant fuckin' spiders," she bit out, an actual shiver going through her, and Malika's eyes almost popped out of her head in delight at this information.

"You're afraid of spiders," Malika accused and her human friend didn't deny it making her bark out a laugh.

"Shh!" was directed to her from the dwarves carefully carrying the boxes of lyrium just in front of them.

"You're afraid of spiders," Malika repeated with a tremble in her voice before she stuffed a fist into her mouth to smother another laugh.

"It's not funny," Kiara hissed at her, a scowl twisting her features as Malika just shook with silent laughter. "No spider has the right to be bigger that your hand, they are a freaks of nature that should be slaughtered."

"But not by you," Malika managed to get out past her fist. "Because you're scared of them."

"I'm not afraid of hurting you," Kiara threatened and Malika swayed with more laughter.

"I can't believe you're afraid of spiders," Malika choked out.

* * *

><p>"I can totally believe you're afraid of spiders," Malika made a face at the spider blood that was splattered over her uniform, ruining the cloth and attempting to stain the leather. "Yuck."<p>

Kiara didn't speak, her pupils were blown wide and completely devoured the dark earthy brown of her irises. She was leaned up against the wall, her sword drawn, covered in the dark sticky blood of the giant spiders, and pointed towards the way they had come as the others sorted out the payment for the lyrium as if she expected more to suddenly appear.

"You were right, they were freaks of nature," Malika continued as she scraped some of the drying blood off her leather gloves. "Nice stabbing and killing by the way."

Kiara made an odd sound in the back of her throat that made Malika look up at her in concern.

"Kiara?" she called hesitantly and placed a hand on the human's elbow. "I think we've killed them all."

Kiara nodded slightly but didn't look at her.

"Really killed them all," Malika repeated. "You hacked them up really well, and if there are more," Kiara stiffened under her hand and Malika attempted to pat the elbow comfortingly—it didn't work. "They now know not to bother us again, right?"

Once again Kiara just nodded but didn't say anything and Malika bit her lip in worry.

She had known that Kiara wasn't fond of heights, that she was almost scared of them, and had thought that was how she was like with spiders. Turns out it wasn't, Kiara feared them in the mind-numbing fight-or-flight way that Malika hadn't seen in her friend before.

Their Carta made a lot of money smuggling lyrium, this wouldn't be the last time that Kiara would be asked be part of one of their groups when they were delivering and it would stupid to think that this was the last time that she would have to face giant spiders.

Malika didn't like seeing her friend this way, Kiara wasn't meant to be this way, and Malika feared for Kiara's sanity if she was expected to face those spiders regularly.

Perhaps it was time for Malika to break away from her brother, perhaps she should look into making her own mercenary group with Kiara as her second and with loose ties to her brother's Carta that wouldn't be involved with giant spiders.

Like Grandpa always said, there was a time in the lives of all the Cadash to break away from the main path of the House and build their own path.

* * *

><p><em>I have three fears; heights, spiders and deep water. I had gotten used to heights, people had an annoying habit of taking me up high, and now I only got a small twinge of fear in my chest. <em>

_I would never like deep water nor would I ever be a confident swimmer, but I knew enough not to drown. _

_Spiders, well that was my ultimate fear. They made my brain shut down and used to make me run away in fright or just hiss at my mother to kill them before all my crappy lives taught me to fight instead of flight._

* * *

><p>Malika squared her shoulders and set her chin stubbornly under Kiara's gaze which turned wary as she watched the dwarf visibly ready herself.<p>

"We are no longer apart of the Carta," Malika announced bluntly and Kiara's brows furrowed.

"Why?" she asked with a slightly confused tilt to her head, and Malika hid her relief that Kiara was back to normal. "And what do you mean 'we'?"

"We're not officially apart of the Carta though we'll still have ties to it," Malika told the dark haired human who lounged on the bed of the room that she was renting in the Inn. "Because we're going to make our own mercenary group."

She had said that last part cheerfully like it was a grand thing and Kiara stared at her flatly which showed just what she thought of it.

"Do you know how to make one?" Kiara asked in her normal dry tone, and Malika laughed with a slightly nervous tone as Kiara's eyes narrowed. "Do you know how to run one? Do you know how to get clients? People to recruit? Do you know about all the paperwork that will be involved?"

"Paperwork?" Malika asked in confusion and Kiara closed her eyes, a resigned look on her face.

"I'm going to be the one running it," she almost bemoaned which sounded even funnier as she was still speaking in her normal dry tone. "You're just going to be a figure-head."

Malika laughed as Kiara muttered to herself just what they needed, reaching to grab one of her leather-bound books to write it all down so she wouldn't forget anything.

Malika sat beside Kiara on her bed and pretended to not notice the slender fingers that briefly wrapped around her wrist with a squeeze of thanks as Kiara informed her bluntly that she wasn't going do all the work and that Malika had no right to be lazy as it was _her_ idea.

The dwarf knew that Kiara had guessed why they were breaking away from the Carta—Malika hadn't exactly hidden her worry of Kiara's state from their encounter with the giant spiders—and she was thankful for it.

Some may have thought that Malika was being selfless, just being a good friend, but Malika knew herself too well and she knew Kiara. Kiara was too proud to stay around after such a loss of control, she was too realistic to make herself believe that she would never face those spiders again if she continued to work with the Carta and would decide it was time to move on.

Kiara had been working with the Carta for almost a month, had become Malika's best friend, and had once told her that she only stayed with a group for about a month as she didn't want to be tied down in one group.

Kiara would have left, would have left Malika behind, and Malika didn't want that, wouldn't have that. She was selfish, all dwarves were selfish creatures deep down, and she wasn't letting Kiara walk away without a care like she had done with other groups so she was going with her though made it look like she was forcing Kiara to go with_ her_.


	3. Chapter 3

"_**Either you have an enviable memory, or a pitiable life, to know nothing of regret." – Sten.**_

* * *

><p>A tall cloaked figure made its way into the Inn that promised warmth, food and drink. Most of the people had fallen silent when they entered and watched them with distrusting eyes as they slowly made their way towards the bar.<p>

The barkeep stared up at them fearlessly, but distrusting. They weren't a stranger to distrust, though they were unused to the lack of fear in their eyes.

They placed a small fistful of silver on the counter and pushed it towards the human behind it. He sniffed as he counted the coin.

"It's enough for a mug of ale and a bowl of stew," the human informed them gruffly and they nodded, that sounded good.

"How about Orlais?" a female voice asked and they tilted their head enough to see a dwarf—she had a deep voice that was at odds with her small body. "It's filled with rich nobles happy to spend their coin, yeah? Perfect to start up."

"Sure," the human woman across from the dwarf agreed in a dry tone. "If one doesn't mind bards."

"What's wrong with bards?" the dwarf asked, tossing her tightly bound hair over her shoulder idly. "They play good songs."

The human woman sighed as she rested her chin on her fist; "Orlais is filled with bards that will thrill you with stories, regale you with history, enchant you with music and possible kill you if they were hired too."

"Oh," there was a moment of silence as the dwarf squinted down at the map between them, held down by tankards. "What about Starkheaven?"

"Have a royal family that actually cares about what happens in their city," the woman told her friend, a smile quirking her lips.

"Kirkwall?"

"Still getting over the failed coup,"

"Antiva?"

"Ever heard of the Antivan Crows?"

"Rivain? Good pirating country, perfect place to set up a group,"

"No,"

"Just no? You're not even going to say why?"

There was a beat of silence as the human stirred the stew in her bowl in front of her and the dwarf stared at her friend before laughing, loudly.

"It's because of your weak stomach, isn't it?"

"I don't have a weak stomach," the human scowled at her friend. "I just don't like boats."

That didn't stop the dwarf from laughing.

"Here you go," the barkeep grunted and they almost jumped, they had been so interested in watching the dwarf and the human that they had forgotten where they were.

They bowed their head in thanks as their clawed hands carefully took the bowl and tankard before scanning the room for a place to sit and enjoy their first meal as a free person.

The other groups of humans and few dwarves glared at them, saying without words that they weren't welcome to sit with them, and the only table that had free seats was with the two women that didn't seem to be aware of them entering the Inn.

Slowly, almost shuffling, they made their way to the table and softly put their tankard and bowl down.

The dwarf stared up at them with suspicious steel eyes while the human just glanced up almost calmly with earthy brown eyes which actually made them shift under their bulky cloak.

"Take a seat," the human waved a hand without a care before turning back to her own stew and the map, grumbling the dwarf did the same.

They pulled the free seat out and carefully sat before lowering their hood warily.

"Well fuck," the dwarf was staring at them again, no longer suspicious but disbelieving and shocked. "I didn't know they had _women_."

The human snorted, amused, as she looked at her friend.

"Really, Malika?" she asked with her own brand of disbelief. "You didn't even think the Qunari had women?"

"Well, we never see them," 'Malika' huffed and crossed her arms over her chest in a defensive move before shooting another glance at them which turned into a stare, a more appalled look in her steel eyes. "What's wrong with your mouth?"

That finally made the human turn to stare at them, earthy eyes went hard and flat like volcanic earth as they narrowed at the blood around their mouth and seeping from their lips.

"Saarebas," slipped from the human's lips in an angered hiss and they flinched.

"Sera-what-it?" Malika questioned confused as the human reached out, ignoring their flinch and their hands sparking, and grabbed their chin with a gentle but unyielding grip. "Whoa, mage!"

"Shut up, Malika," the human told her friend, her gaze fixed to their wide ashy grey eyes. "I'm not going to hurt you."

The human spoke slower, softer, and didn't once waver in her gaze.

"But I need to treat your lips before you eat," the human's tone was firm which was at odds with her naturally soft tone of voice. "I'm just going to help you, do you understand?"

A shallow nod and the human nodded back, pleased.

"Get my med-bag, Malika," the human ordered, not asked, and the dwarf muttered—"you still haven't told me why you call it a med-bag,"—and left the table. "My name is Kiara, did you have a nickname before Saarebas?"

The human had surprising knowledge of the Qun, especially for one so young.

"Saya," they croaked out through cracked and aching lips, remembering how her brothers and sisters used to call her that before her defect came apparent and they had taken her away, sewed up her lips and cut her horns before chaining her like the beast she was in their eyes.

* * *

><p>Malika knew that look in Kiara's eyes, it was the same look that she had gained when she saw a hurt starving mutt and decided to take it in, and was resigned to what was going to happen as she carefully balanced all their bowls and tankards on the tray that she had nicked of the barkeep as she followed Kiara and the Qunari—Saya apparently—up to their room because Kiara had gotten annoyed about the stares of the other punters and their mutters of getting the Templars—Kiara had been an amazing sight as she stood tall, simply even taller than the Qunari, and glared at them with near-black eyes as she told them in simple terms what exactly she would do to each and every one of them if they even made a move to get any Templars which made almost all of them piss themselves, Malika was sure of that—and had decided to treat Saya in their room.<p>

Said fore mentioned mutt growled when they entered the room, ears pulled back and teeth bared, but a sharp snap of 'Logan' made him subside with a huff as he laid back down on Kiara's bed though he didn't move his dark eyes from Saya, who had automatically growled back and subsided at Kiara's snap too.

At least Malika knew that Kiara would be able to tame the Qunari, she couldn't help but think as she carefully placed their tray on the table before sitting beside the large shaggy dog and patting its wiry black fur.

Kiara made Saya sit on Malika's bed before she rummaged in her so-called 'med-bag' and pulling out small tins of various pastes and ointments and thin vials of tonics. Kiara wasn't that great at herbalism but she knew how to make the basics which was all she needed to treat Saya's mouth.

Malika winced as she realised where the blood was coming from and stared in horror at Saya as Kiara gently dapped a sealing salve at the punctures that came from someone sewing her mouth shut.

"What the Stone?" Malika had slipped into her Grandpa's way of cursing in her shock and horror, and Kiara glanced over her shoulder.

"Qunari call their mages, Saarebas, which means dangerous thing," Kiara's lips thinned and curled in disgust. "They are treated as weapons and are never left alone. Keeping them chained and their lips sewed up is how they are kept under control, sometimes their tongues are cut out too. Luckily, our new friend here still has her tongue."

"It is the will of the Qun," Saya croaked out and Malika darted over for a tankard of ale and pressed into those large hands, Kiara took it before Saya could drink anything and poured a pain tonic in it before pressing it back into Saya's hands. "We are dangerous."

Saya spoke with an almost growling tone and Malika wondered if that was because she had to communicate for most of her life in growls.

"So am I," Kiara told her bluntly, almost darkly. "Drink."

Saya drank in small sips while Kiara attacked Saya's hair, untangling the long braids and untying them—she placed the various things like feathers and carved bone, perhaps Saya's version of charms?, on the bedside table—before wetting her hands and running her fingers through the greyish locks until they were almost completely stark white.

Malika stared at Saya, she had stubs instead of horns, and her skin a light purplish colour, her clothes under her bulky cloak was ragged. She wasn't as broad or as tall as the male Qunari that Malika had seen in the past, she was still a lot taller and broader than any humans that she had seen.

"I guess we've found our first recruit, huh?" Malika offered weakly and Kiara's lips barely twitched.

"Yes," a fiercely protective look entered Kiara's dark gaze. "We have."

Malika almost shivered and almost pitied any Qunari that they would come across if they took offense to them having Saya because Kiara had that look that said she would destroy them.

"We're not going to Rivain," Kiara said firmly as she turned her attention to checking Saya for other wounds and Malika nodded.

Par Vollen and Rivain may have be separated by the Northern Passage of the Venefication Sea, but it was still too close for them to go with Saya.

* * *

><p><em>The way mages were treated never sat well with me, especially those in the Qun. I wasn't going to let Saya fall into the hands of the Qun, especially since she was unbound. I guess I still had a soft heart underneath it all.<em>

* * *

><p>Malika woke up with her face pressed into dark locks that smelt of bitter elfroot and the metallic oil used to clean their armour and weapons, one leg hooked around Kiara's thigh and one arm wrapped around Kiara's middle.<p>

She moved back slightly, a jaw-aching yawn leaving her as she rubbed one of her eyes with a fist as she wondered what woke her up. There was only enough light peeking through the thin curtains to suggest early morning so it wasn't the sunlight.

The hairs rising on the back of her neck clued her in that someone was staring at her and she turned look.

"Holy shit!" she jerked back into Kiara, who sleepily swiped out with a dagger—which luckily went over her head—and a mutter that vaguely sounded like 'die', as she met calm ashy grey eyes staring at her from what should have been her bed. "Don't stare like that, it's creepy."

Saya titled her head slightly, ashy eyes almost curious, her long hair brushing against her bare shoulders.

"I," she paused, licking cracked and dried lips, "am sorry."

"Its fine," Malika grumbled as she carefully inched away from Kiara, who had tucked away the dagger and snuggled deeper into her pillow still asleep. "Just remember to blink ever now and again, okay?"

Saya nodded, gaze turning to the bandages tied around her wrists. Malika remembered the look of fury that briefly twisted Kiara's pretty face into something monstrous at the sight of Saya's rubbed raw and deeply cut wrists that were still sluggishly weeping blood last night which smoothed out when she noticed Saya's flinch. Saya's wrists would scar, all of them knew that, and they would be a constant reminder of what she had lived through.

"How are you feeling?" Malika knew it was a stupid question to ask seconds after she finished speaking and almost cringed.

"Better," Saya told her softly and Malika nodded awkwardly, hands twisting into the blankets that covered both her and Kiara.

They would have to get Saya new clothes, especially tailored to her tall and rather broad frame. Malika grimaced lightly, that would take some coin. They should also have to leave before Templars came, Kiara may have cowed the people last night but it wouldn't do to stick around to see how long that lasted. Humans could be very short-sighted if the threat wasn't constantly in their faces—Kiara was the only exception that Malika found, and Kiara was almost hyper-aware of every possible threat. Malika was sure Kiara could think of a dozen ways a fork could be a threat or take down a threat.

They would have to be vigil now that they had an apostate with them before they hadn't had to worry about Templars and looked at them as potential clients, now though they were a threat to one of their own.

Kiara wouldn't be waking up anytime soon, and frankly Malika didn't want to deal with the hassle of taking Kiara to the tailors as Kiara had little to no patience when it came to tailors if they had to measure her or someone else—the human had been happy to walk around in clothes made of leather (all of which she made herself), and almost be mistaken as a Dalish before other humans realised that she was human herself. Malika personally thought that the Dalish would have better needle-work, and taste, than to walk around in some of the roughly sewed tunics and leggings that Kiara threw together.

"We need to get you new clothes," Malika pushed the blanket back, Kiara shivered slightly but settled down when Logan took Malika's place next to her, and the dwarf snorted as she threw the blanket back other the human and her dog.

It was so obvious that Kiara was Fereldan, especially after she picked up that mutt. Those Dog-lords loved their beasts, crazy humans.

Malika ignored the shiver that went up the back of her legs when she put her bare feet on the cool wooden floor and padded her way to Kiara's pack, ignoring the curious gaze of Saya as she did.

Kiara always kept a bundle or two of leather on hand for them to sell to a leatherworkers, hopefully it would gain them enough for Saya's clothes as Malika didn't want to dip into the coin they were already saving.

"We better get dressed," Malika told Saya decisively and Saya hesitated as she glanced over at Kiara. "She'll be fine. Trust me, you don't want to wake her up before she's ready. A couple of weeks ago, we were on this job and this other dwarf, Bain, attempted to wake her up for her shift on watch. It wasn't yet her time and somehow she knew it, he's got a nice scar carved in his face now."

* * *

><p>The room stripped of all their belongings by the time that Malika and Saya got back—Saya in brand new clothing—and Kiara was dressed in her studded leather armour as she slipped various blades to her with Logan watching her with his big head resting on his crossed paws.<p>

"We leaving?" Malika asked, automatically reaching for her own studded leather that had been placed on her pack with her duel-axes.

"Yep," Kiara answered, clever slender fingers helping Malika with some of the trickier latches.

"Where too?" Malika asked as Saya casually lifted both heavy packs on to her shoulder.

"Kirkwall," Kiara smirked at Malika's face before clicking her tongue, Logan jumped down and came to a stop at her legs. "I need to find a dwarf with information about an Emporium. You staying with us?"

Saya didn't even hesitate.

"Yes,"

* * *

><p><em>The only place I could think of that would sell staffs andor magic tomes was the Black Emporium which was in Kirkwall, not the best place to take a mage into admittedly. Especially after the previous Viscount attempted his little coup against the Templars so they were still ridding from their high of victory and Meredith had just been put in power._

_Hopefully, Bartrand or Varric would be willing to help us in getting an invite. _


	4. Chapter 4

"_**There's power in stories, though. That's all history is: the best tales. The ones that last. Might as well be mine." – Varric Tethras.**_

* * *

><p><em>Why don't you do something useful, Varric? Instead of spending all day in your room, reading your sodding books, why don't you learn something from Bartrand? He actually does something to help the House. Well, Uncle, at least in my room I wouldn't have gotten kidnapped. <em>Varric thought to himself as he tested the strength of the ropes that bound him.

Bartrand had seriously pissed off someone royally this time if they already decided to kidnap family members. He normally had time enough to warn them about whomever he pissed off, Varric would normally be able to enjoy the sight of his mother slapping Bartrand around the head before she hired some goons to protect them—or act like cannon-fodder—and they would just stay in for a little while—or the goons would be sent to massacred them if Mother was that pissed off.

"You know," Varric began as casually as he could, catching the attention of the two burly humans that had taken him. "Bartrand doesn't like me that much, so whatever you're hoping to gain from this, is probably not going to happen."

"We don't care," the slightly taller one shrugged easily. "We get paid anyway."

"Oh,"

Great, he was dealing with people that were going to be paid no matter what. You couldn't bullshit with those people, he should know as he had tried before and failed. Just his luck, he would have to wait to be recused.

The door to the tiny cramped space was suddenly opened and a brunette dwarven woman was standing there—a rather cute one, he might add.

"Oh," she seemed surprised to find him tied to a chair with two armed humans in front of him, all three of them gaping at her in shock. "Wow, crime really is everywhere in Kirkwall." She actually seemed pleased by that fact before she ignored the humans and peered at him with steel grey eyes. "Are you Varric Tethras?"

"Err, yeah." Varric answered hesitantly and watched her face light up before she turned her head slightly.

"Kiara! I found him!" she shouted in delight before a human appeared behind her.

This, he supposed, was Kiara. She was young, probably about two years younger than his eighteen, around the age that parents really started to worry about what their offspring get up too. Long dark hair, that shone red under the sunlight, was pulled back and twisted with decorated bits of metal pinning it in place and out of her fierce earthy brown eyes.

"Well damn," she barely glanced at the two men in front of him, her gaze more focused on him. "That was easier than I thought."

"Hey," one of his guards snapped, obviously snapping out of his shock, "This is private business."

The women blinked at him.

"Was that meant to be a threat?" the dwarf asked, her tone unimpressed. "Because that was weak as piss."

"What is it with you and piss?" Kiara asked randomly, tilting her head towards her short friend and Varric almost gaped—seriously? She was going to question her friend rather than deal with his armed kidnappers? "'This ale is as weak as piss,' 'That spider almost scared the piss out of you,' 'I could piss hotter than this bath!'"

"Well," the dwarf almost adopted a lecturing stance. "Pissing is something we all do, so it's something all races will understand, right? Plus it makes people uncomfortable," the dwarf sniggered, "especially humans, can't stand to hear a perfectly normal bodily function without putting their nose out of joint."

"Enough," Kiara sighed, looking she regretted bringing the subject up and turning her attention to his once-again shocked kidnappers. "We want the dwarf, you either give him to us the easy way or the hard way."

"He's ours," the second guard snarled.

"Ladies, ladies," Varric couldn't stop himself, he really, really, tried but it just slipped out—honestly. "There's plenty of Varric to go around."

"Ooh, I like this one," the dwarf grinned at him and Kiara rolled her eyes. "Let's keep him after this."

That snapped whatever control the guards had and one charged with his over-sized sword—Varric would later shake his head at the idiocy that his kidnappers seemed to be infected with. It had been painfully obvious that neither woman was even that bit bothered about their swords which should have clued them into the fact that they maybe, he didn't know, how about dangerous?

Kiara's hands braced herself on her dwarven friend's shoulders and she used them to flip herself forwards into the room—a move he had only read about in his adventure books. Ducking under the sword, coming up with a glittering blade that parried the large blade and moving into his guard, another blade thrust into his stomach before pulling out with a sickening sound and slicing open his throat, a spray of blood painting across Kiara's features and staining her smirk.

The other one was taken out by a flying dwarven axe to the chest and surprise etched into his face, it was almost anti-climax after Kiara's little fight and Varric was almost disappointed.

"Men," Kiara spoke almost off-handily. "Always choosing the hard way to do things."

The dwarf snorted in agreement as she ripped her axe out of the poor sod's chest.

"Well, they do seem to like things hard," she said as she wiped her axe clean on the dead human's tunic. "Makes them feel better about the size of their sword, I think."

Kiara paused, long fingers wrapped around the coin-purse of the man she killed, and looked at her friend in disbelief.

"Did you honestly just say that?" Kiara asked in stunned disbelief and rising amusement. "With a straight face and all?"

"Say what?" her friend blinked steel eyes innocently and Kiara snorted, the amusement and disbelief warring across her features, as she straightened from her crouch with coin-purse clutched in one hand.

"Not to sound ungrateful or anything," Varric decided to pipe up. "But can you untie me? These ropes are starting to itch."

"Sure," the dwarven maiden—he really had to get her name—chirped as Kiara liberated the coin purse from the other body and eye the kidnappers' quite useless weapons with a critical eye. "I'm Malika, by the way."

"I'm Varric," he offered as she cut the rope with a knife. "But you seem to already know that."

"Yep," Malika grinned at him as she let the rope fall. "Kiara says you know everything and everyone worth knowing in Kirkwall."

"High praise from my valiant saviour," Varric grinned as the dark haired human look at him, a smirk quirking her lips. "And what is it you want to know?"

"I want an invitation to the Black Emporium," Kiara told him and he almost froze but caught himself in time—people didn't just ask for invites to the Black Emporium.

"I'm afraid, my dear lady, I don't know what you're talking about," Varric didn't like the glint that appeared in those fierce eyes.

"Nice try," she complimented drily, "but I grew up around spies, I call bullshit."

Varric eyed her carefully. There was few spies in Thedas, well true spies anyway. Some could say the Bards are spies, but they played entertainer, lover and assassin more than they played spy.

The people that were called themselves spies were dangerous, everything about them was a lie on top of another lie—Varric was half-certain that these people had forgotten everything about who they truly were, too stuck in their lies—and to find a woman, still young enough to be classed a girl but with the fierce eyes of a woman, that had grown up with them? It wasn't the norm, it made the woman a lot more dangerous than he had first thought because children learnt a lot more than adults thought and those lessons would have stayed with her, marked her and gifted her with a silver tongue for lies.

"I can't promise anything," he told her carefully and she smiled at him easily.

"I know," she told him, her tone as easy-going as her smile which almost made him shudder—no one should be able to smile that easily with blood on their face and bodies at their feet. "We'll be at the Hanged Man. See you soon, Varric."

Varric watched as she causally lifted the over-sized sword, toned muscles visible under tanned skin, and threw it over her shoulder as Malika looted the sword and shield that the other kidnapper had.

"Bye," Malika waved the shield at him as she followed her friend, leaving Varric alone with two bodies.

"Well, shit."

He should have just stayed in his room.

* * *

><p>Varric knew the Hanged Man like he knew his house and spent a lot of time there—Bartrand once had said he should just live in the Hanged Man since he spent so much time there when he actually left his room.<p>

He liked the Hanged Man a lot more than those snotty taverns that Bartrand frequented in High Town. It's ale didn't taste that much like piss, the stew—with it's questionable meat—wasn't half-bad, everyone knew his name, there was enough bar-fights to keep one on your toes and it was a hub for information of all kinds—it was his type of place. He was comfortable there, _was_ being the keyword.

Kiara frankly scared him, just a little, maybe a might more than a little, but enough to make him wary. She was trouble with a capital T, and she knew it, he knew it, hell everyone should know it.

Pretty women, no matter the race, were dangerous and Kiara_ was_ pretty, rich dark hair that shone red in the light and expressive dark eyes would make any man give her a second look, the golden skin that covered her willowy frame would make eyes linger—especially on her seemingly endless legs—and she had a certain grace to her steps that would ensnare the unwary—it was the grace of a predator, the grace of someone who knew they were one of the, if not _The,_ most dangerous thing around and revelled in it.

Thankfully, Kiara didn't seem to care enough to highlight the fact that she was actually a pretty girl otherwise she would be more dangerous.

* * *

><p>Varric paused just in the doorway of the Hanged Man, brown eyes fixed on the table that Kiara sat at with Meeran, leader of the Red Iron, across from her.<p>

In a way that was typically Fereldan, she was dressed in practical clothing; a thick black woollen tunic, sleeves pushed up to reveal her toned arms, suede trousers and sturdy leather boots that were probably a lot more comfortable than they looked—and hurt a lot if she kicked you. Her long hair was again pulled back and he paid more attention to the ornaments in her hair and realised it was two thin daggers, handle-less and overly etched, but daggers none the less.

A necklace made of twisted wood, feathers and what looked suspiciously like carved bone hung around her slender neck and rested against her collar-bone—Varric was pretty sure that wasn't the norm of Fereldan jewellery, and briefly wondered if she was one of the Chasind that he had vaguely heard about.

Laid next to her feet was a huge hound, which by the size of his feet would get even bigger, with shaggy black fur and almost looked like a wolf—not the Mabari that he had almost been expecting after hearing that Ferelden accent.

What really caught his attention though was the woman that sat next to her, a woman that was getting more glances than Malika was—she was currently challenging what seemed like everyone to a drinking contest (with Kiara collecting the coin almost absently, a flash of dagger when one punter thought he could causally liberate one or two of said coins and a warning growl from the woman beside her and the large dog at her feet quickly changed his mind—and probably almost made him piss his smalls) and jeering at those that couldn't keep up with her—and Varric could understand why—he had almost been convinced that the Qunari didn't actually have women because he had not heard of one ever being seen, until now it seemed.

White hair braided in dozens of stupidly tiny braids with feathers and beads—which also looked suspiciously like bone—fastened through them before it was wept back in a high horsetail and out of her rather fierce looking face. She didn't have the long elaborate horns that the Ox-men were famous for, instead she had blackened stubs that may have once been horns and for some reason that made her more frightening. She was dressed in a studded leather cuirass, leather leggings and boots, pale silvery scars curled up around her bare arms and her wrists were bandaged.

Unlike Kiara, who lounged in her simple wooden chair like it was a throne, the Qunari sat with a straight back and squared shoulders, eyes fixed on an almost nervous looking Meeran with an intensity that Varric could almost physically feel across the room.

They seemed to be talking over a piece of parchment, Kiara made a small gesture to the quill next to and Meeran signed the parchment under Kiara's dagger-sharp smile, they shook hands—or attempted to crush the others hand in a show of strength, which she won as she kept smiling while he winced—before Meeran got to his feet and left, pace a tad too swift to be called walking but slow enough not be running.

Varric swallowed—remember that little bit of fear he mentioned before? Well, it had grown. Anyone that could unnerve Meeran wasn't someone that Varric wanted to make an enemy out of.

Kiara looked up and smiled at him as she passed the parchment to the Qunari, her large hands were surprisingly careful as she held the parchment, making sure the ink was dry before she folded it and slipped it away.

_Mother, I love you, Bianca you better finish that crossbow you promised, Bartrand—you're a bastard, but still my brother—Maker help me. _Varric directed what could be his last thoughts outwards before marching forwards—to what could possibly be his doom.

* * *

><p>"The dwarf was scared of you," Saya observed as she watched Kiara attempt to untangle Malika's hand from her dark hair with one hand as the other slapped away Malika's other wandering hand—Malika was a touchy drunk at times.<p>

"I'm a scary person," Kiara replied, wincing as Malika's drunkenly pulled on her hair in attempt to get her closer. "I'm not fucking you, I don't do drunk people."

Malika actually pouted up at her sadly, her gaze not at all focused.

"You're not even interested in women," Kiara reminded her, almost fondly despite her annoyance.

"Oh," Malika blinked her dazed eyes slowly. "I forgot that."

"I can see that," Kiara commented drily, amused despite herself, and was finally able to untangle Malika's hand from her hair and actually tuck the dwarf into her bunk.

They had gotten a room with two bunk beds instead of splitting the group up, it made them feel safer. The rooms in the Hanged Man wasn't actually as bad as she had thought they would be, the blankets may have been a bit hard on the skin but she had slept under worse, there was no bugs which was a plus and there was an actual mattress on the bed—true, it wasn't the mattress that she had grown up with as it was stuffed with straw and such, but it was still a real mattress which was loads better than hard-packed earth under a bedroll.

"I don't think you are," Saya's handle of the King's tongue—Kiara just referred to it as common—was surprisingly good despite her thick accent, which was slowly lessening as Saya got more used to talking in common—and talking in general. "You're a good person."

Kiara glanced over at Saya, hands pausing in their motion of taking off her tunic, and blinked in slight surprise.

"Ah, thank you," she muttered almost embarrassed and Saya smiled before laying down on her bunk, obviously ready to sleep.

* * *

><p><em>I was used to being called scary—I spent so much time around scary people that I had become scary, I guess. I could be terrifying, especially when I was ruthless or extremely pissed off, and I didn't care—being scary made people listen to you and move out of your way, they also had a habit of doing things for you when you ask instead of arsing around for a bit then doing it. It worked for me, fear was a weapon that had been used against me and I could use against others now. <em>

_I wasn't a good person, no matter what Xavier/Charles used to say or what others would tell me or call me that. I was cruel, ruthless, a grad 'A' bitch and proud of it because I survived, I survived Hell and whatever shit has been thrown into my path since._

_But Saya thought I was a good person, I think that's because I actually treated her like a person instead of a weapon. I had been treated as a weapon before, it wasn't something I could do to another person. I wouldn't be like them, like the men that attempt to destroy me, to be beat me into nothing, to break me._


	5. Chapter 5

"_**Once more I am falsely accused of whatever it is that I'm accused of. Falsely." – Varric Tethras.**_

* * *

><p>"What is she doing?" Varric asked Malika in slightly confusion—he hadn't expected to see them in the Merchant Guild.<p>

Malika grinned down at him from she sat on a crate, steel eyes bright, while Saya merely glanced at him once with calm ashy grey eyes, strong arms crossed over her chest, before she returned to her watchful vigil of Kiara.

"She's currently bantering the creation, and probably future sells, of The Pen," Malika informed him.

"Right," he replied slowly, watching Kiara gesture from her place sat on the floor—legs crossed and almost under her in a way that had to be uncomfortable—at small group of merchants, smiths and miners, a piece of parchment held between them that made them mutter as they listened to the human. "And what is this pen?"

"To understand The Pen," Malika began and Varric could almost hear the capital letters. "One must understand one simple fact, Kiara can't write with a quill—at all."

Varric blinked; "She can't write?"

Saya shifted, grey eyes almost glaring in defence for her friend—it seemed she had taken offense to his tone—and Malika laughed, one hand reaching to pat Saya's arm as if that would calm her down and stopping her from frying Varric—yeah, the Qunari scared him more since he found out she was a mage too.

"Kiara _can_ write, just not with quills," Malika told him. "She writes fine with a pencil, but give her a quill and you'll never be able to read what she wrote—she can't even read her writing if she uses a quill. It's funny as fuck watching her trying to write with a quill."

"And what does this have to do with the pen?"

"The Pen," Malika emphasised and Varric pointedly didn't roll his eyes, "is much like the pencil accept it will have ink."

"Huh?"

Malika rolled her eyes like Varric was being dim and he scowled at her.

"It's going to be made of metal and you'll be able to open it so you can put cartridges of ink in it—apparently, I wasn't really listening. It's like a quill and a pencil, best of both worlds. The easiness of the pencil and the ink of a quill, no more catering around ink bottles and all that shit," she told him and he nodded, understanding just enough from Malika's odd explanation.

"Bet they aren't happy that they didn't come up with it," Varric snorted at the smug glee that spread across Malika's face as she nodded.

"By the Maker, yes," Malika laughed, before she thickened her voice. "'How dare an upstart human attempt to invent something! Doesn't she know her place? Dwarves invent things while humans crawl for the hope of using them!'"

Varric laughed, he could see some of the old—and more traditional—dwarves thinking that. And Malika's face was hilarious as she mocked them.

"So these are you're new friends, huh Varric?"

"Bianca!" he turned with his arms wide open. "It's good to see you."

Bianca stood before him, her dark hair pulled back of her face and dark eyes unimpressed, holding a bulky wrapped bundle in her arms.

"I'm sure," she replied drily, almost glaring at where Malika sat—Malika had stilled behind him and Varric didn't really want to see her expression because Malika never went still in all the time he had known her which admittedly was only around a week, but he liked to think he knew her character well. "I can see why you're hardly ever home these days."

"Bianca," Varric smiled tightly, feeling as though he stumbled across a pack of wolves unarmed. "This is Malika, Malika this is Bianca."

"Varric's lover," Bianca told the other woman pointedly.

"I would have thought he had better taste," Malika muttered and barred her teeth in something that barely resembled a grin.

"AND!" Varric interrupted, a hint of panic in his voice. "This is Saya."

Saya just nodded at Bianca, a smile curling her lips and amusement in her eyes.

Bianca didn't even glance at the Qunari, exchanging glares with Malika was obviously more important.

"I haven't seen you in Kirkwall before," Bianca began, seemingly innocent. "Where you from?"

"Further in land," Malika replied, that frightening grin still in place. "We came especially to see Varric. You don't seem to be from around here either."

"I came to learn a few things from the Merchant's Guild here," Bianca informed her. "Varric and I have been working on a _special_ project for months."

"I bet you are _special_," Malika said almost sickeningly sweet as Varric stared at them with wide eyes and Bianca scowled.

"Have you finished it?" Varric asked, hopefully distracting them from each other.

"Yeah," Bianca didn't look at him as she shoved the bundle towards him. "Here."

This wasn't good, this wasn't good at all.

Slender hands placed themselves on his shoulders before he could attempt to interrupt again and he tilted his head back to see Kiara, whose face was too amused as she assessed the situation.

"Trust me," Kiara told him in an undertone. "You do not want to get in-between this."

Glancing once more at the two dwarven maidens, both exchanging cringe-worthy insults in horribly sweet tones told him to listen to Kiara.

"Yeah," he almost gulped and Kiara pulled him back.

"We'll be at the Hanged Man, alright Malika?" Kiara called out as Saya flanked her.

Malika just waved a hand in acknowledgement, not taking her eyes off of Bianca.

* * *

><p><em>I had hoped that the dwarves had made pens, but that wasn't so. If you're ever thinking of writing with a quill, I tell you something now. You almost always have to write with jointed-up-writing otherwise ink blots everywhere.<em>

_Some of you are thinking, 'that it? And you can't write with a quill?'_

_Well no, that wasn't just it. It was awkward to hold, ink dripped and you had to remember to wet the nib of the quill and not knock over the expensive ink. _

_Also, how many of you actually write with jointed-up-hand-writing after the school stopped demanding it as proof that you were taught it? All through primary school, they forced us to write in jointed-up-writing as they said we __**needed**__ to know how to, that it would be expected of us in secondary school—bullshit, I stopped joining up my hand-writing mid-way through year seven—that's like freshmen year of middle school or something in American and my first year of secondary schooling—and no one gave a shit. _

_Like always, adults lie to torture us for their own amusement._

* * *

><p>"What in the name of Andraste's tits was that all about?" Varric asked as Kiara plopped a tankard in front of him.<p>

"My dear Varric," Kiara smirked at him across the table. "That was two women fighting over you."

"Yeah, I got that bit," he grabbed his tankard. "But that was—"

"Intense?" Saya asked, a rarely seen smirk on her face.

"Frightening?" Kiara was almost grinning as she asked that—Varric preferred her crooked grins to her smirks as her smirks spelt trouble for everyone or just her amusement at others' misfortunate.

"Yeah," he drank heavily after that and Kiara laughed.

"This is why you don't become too friendly with other women when you have a female lover," she told him almost sagely.

"Sounds like you speak from experience," he snorted and Kiara's grin was wicked.

"Oh, I do," she assured him and laughed when he choked on his ale.

"So you like—"

"Are you really going at ask me who I like fucking?" she asked, eyebrows raised and a smirk on her face as he actually flushed.

"Never mind,"

"Because I'll answer if you want," she lounged back in her chair, her head titled in a way that drew eyes to the slender arch of her neck.

"No, no, just passing interest," he really didn't want to continue with this thread, he could already see images in his head of Kiara with another woman, dominating with her superior strength and height because he couldn't see someone like Kiara submitting for anyone, and he didn't need the embarrassment of his trousers suddenly becoming too tight in the middle of the Hanged Man and across from her—she would never let him live it down.

"You sure?" There was husky undertone to her voice that made him bite his lip.

"Yep," he didn't squeak, no matter what Saya's chuckle may have suggested as he shifted under Kiara's suddenly hooded gaze—he was right, damn it. She _was_ dangerous when she actively played the physical attraction card, with the openness of her attraction to other women and her lack of shame—it was a deadly hand.

"Because I could give you all the smutty details, you may even put it in one of your books."

That brought him up short, he hadn't even told his own mother about the books he was attempting to write.

"How do you know I'm writing books?" he asked, suspicion and shock clearing his once clouded head.

"I know things," she told him blandly and shrugged casually.

"I bet you do," Varric muttered as Saya snorted into her tankard of ale and Kiara smirked, smug.

"By the way, Varric?" she asked casually after a few moments of silence and he looked up to see her wicked smirk. "I like them both."

He didn't really need to know that, he decided as he downed more of his ale. He pitied the men that thought that they would be able to get Kiara to submit to them, she would break them in one night and turn them into her bitches.

* * *

><p><em>I learnt a long time ago that gender didn't really matter that much—expect for how you went to the toilet and what type of sex you can have with your lover—and what was more important was the person inside—by that thought, I'm actual pansexual and not bisexual as most would assume. It just so happened that most of my lovers had been male and so people automatically assumed I was straight, heterosexual, whatever you want to call it and I didn't see the point in correcting them. I didn't lie, but I don't actually see what it matters to anyone else who I take into my bed. <em>

_Despite Dragon Age being in the middle ages in terms of most technology and such, they were actually more tolerate than my home world and time—which was seriously sad—but it wasn't perfect—there was no such thing as a perfect world. There was still haters and such, and guess what? I still don't care what they think, why should someone else dictate who I love? _

_Also, it worked out brilliantly for this. I could basically romance everyone—apart from Solas because I'm human and Dorian and Cassandra as I didn't have a dick between my legs. I refuse to believe that Morrigan was completely straight and the few videos I had found on YouTube with that mod that allowed a female warden romance Morrigan just further made my mind up. _

_I could sleep with Lelianna—but I'm not going to, her fervent believe in the Maker and niceness didn't attract me. I could have an adrenaline thrill of sleeping with Zevran, I could pop Alistair's cherry—I wouldn't because I totally believed in the love of Lady Cousland and Alistair, and hoped to whatever gods were up there that she would be the warden if there was only going to be one other warden or at least she was the warden that he would fall in love with if all the wardens were going to be in this verse. _

_I could sleep with Isabelle or Fenris, or Anders—it would have to be pre-Justice because he was a real downer on Anders love-life. I would not sleep with Merrill because she was too damn innocent, like everyone's kid sister that you want to cuddle and coo over and was a child forever no matter how old she actually got. _

_Some many choices, so little time between the world going to hell and being saved only to go to hell again in a few years' time. How will I choose? Perhaps I should pull a name out of a hat._

* * *

><p>Kiara was wet, her leathers sticking to her uncomfortably, her hair stuck to her face and neck in a way that made her look like a drowned cat and her boots made an unpleasant squelch as she walked.<p>

She was also stuck in a bloody cave in, her left ankle seemed busted and frankly, she was too damn tired and cold for this shit. She didn't like caves, they always had massive spiders in them and she especially didn't like being in caves alone because of some arsehole apostate thought they were after him when actually they were just scoping out the Wounded Coast, and its cave systems, and decided to fight them in one of said caves and either his magic or Saya's hit something it shouldn't and caused a fucking cave-in. So she was trapped inside the cave systems while Saya and Malika could easily walk away—not that they would but they could and that was her point.

"Saya! Malika!" she didn't pound her fists against the rocks no matter how tempted she was, her ankle was already busted from some rock falling on it when she had attempted to dive out of the way and she didn't want to bust her hands up as well.

Silence answered which almost made her growl—she had spent too much time with Logan—and meant that the rocky wall wouldn't be something easy to move. Great, just great.

Either she could stay there and wait to be rescued or she could look for another way out.

"Fuck it,"

She had never been one to wait around.

* * *

><p>Elves were a dying breed, they weren't perhaps as obvious about it as dwarves, and they did the best to combat it. The city elves that lived in those Alienages were said to keep their blood fresh by arranging betrothals from different city Alienages, they kept their children—especially their daughters—close and out of the lustful gazes of some of the shemlen that didn't seem to care if an elf said no.<p>

Taking the fancy of the same sex was frowned upon, heavily, and love had little to do with the marriages that they had. They were discouraged from attracting and becoming attracted to any Shems, children born of such unions were always considered shemlen.

The Dalish had a different way to deal with it. They hardly had to worry about shemlens as they spent most of their lives in the wilds and only a few Dalish ever ventured into the towns and cities of man to trade—the stories that the shems had spread about them gave them certain protection as they were wary of angering the 'wild' elves in case such savage beings attacked them.

They didn't have traditional marriages, they had unions. Both elves had to be of age, having received their Vallaslin, and most were based on actual feelings. They didn't make any tonics that could be harmful to children—born or unborn—because children were precious and had to be protected, each one was treasured as the future of the Dalish—well that was the theory anyway. Relations with the same sex was forbidden, it was shunned and was thought even more badly than having a child with a Shem.

And that was the reason behind why the Lavellan twins weren't with their clan, or at least that was the reason why Elion was without his clan. Ellana, his twin, came because she honestly didn't care that he preferred other men and given up her place as First to come with him, refusing to let him be banished alone.

They were twins, she reminded him when he protested, telling her to stay. They were one soul in two bodies and were meant to always be together. Elion couldn't really argue against that and more importantly, he didn't want to argue with her.

So far, it wasn't as bad being on their own as they had feared—he could do without sleeping in caves as they had the annoying infestation of giant spiders to deal with—though they were thinking about joining a mercenary group as they knew they would survive better with a group and gain access to steady income as they no longer had the crafters of the clan to fall back on for supplies.

What they hadn't expected was for a mercenary to stumble upon them in one of the cave systems of the Wounded Coast and offer them a future.

* * *

><p>The jerky was almost as hard as ironbark, Elion thought as he chewed determinedly, ignoring the fact that his teeth was starting to ache.<p>

"It's not that hard," Ellana sighed, the light of the fire between them gave her golden eyes a brighter colour, blonde hair falling around her slender face as she bit into her piece of jerky.

Elion snorted without thinking and began to choke as he almost inhaled his mouthful and Ellana laughed.

"You idiot," she told him, amused.

"DAMN SPIDERS!" A sudden scream made them jump and both blonde heads snapped to where the scream, female in nature, came from just in time to see the tall form of a human stumble into their illumined area with a limp and a sword in hand, muttering angrily. "Freaky arse giant spiders, the walking dead, what's next?"

It was then she seemed to realise that she could actually see and looked up, dark eyes met their startled gazes for a moment before she tilted her face towards, a resigned look on her face.

"Someone up there is laughing at me, aren't they?" she seemed to ask herself, before sighing and looking at them with a tired look. "Don't kill me?"

Elion just stopped his next snort and hurriedly finished the jerky his mouth.

"Should we be killing you?" he asked as Ellana eyed the woman's left leg as she was putting most, if not all, of her weight on her right leg.

"I'm going to answer no," she seemed to relax a little and eyed their fire with a hint of longing. "I'm a cold, wet, and pathetically lost human in need of aid, please oh great elves of warm fire, please let me share the warmth?"

Elion snorted as Ellana jumped to her feet and tugged her down, a yelp almost left her lips as Ellana ignored all types of manners as she placed her glowing blue hands on the human's ankle.

"Ohh," the human said in quiet relief. "Thank you. So I guess, I'm allowed to stay?"

"Of course," Ellana smiled at her, always too kind-hearted for her own good. "I'm Ellana, this is my brother, Elion."

"Kiara," she told them, inching closer to the fire and picking at her leathers. "I'm going to strip now, okay?"

Elion choked as Ellana began to help her get out of her wet leathers.

* * *

><p><em>And that was how three—four if you count my dog—became five—or six if you were counting Logan. All because of a cave-in, a busted ankle and two Dalish taking pity on me and helping me get back to Malika, Saya and Logan before they decided to stay with us.<em>

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So what do you think? Anything you really want to see? Anything you hate so far? Anything you love? Let me know. <strong>


	6. Chapter 6

"_**Tell yourself the stories you need to tell. But don't be fooled by them. Never live your own lies." – Varric Tethras.**_

* * *

><p>The Hanged Man had become the home of the Companions—a name that Kiara had suggested, an odd quirk to her mouth and a strange look of amusement in her eyes, when Malika despaired about not having name for their group—and one could tell it was their place the moment you stepped through the door.<p>

A sturdy long table had been set up close to the bar where Malika held challenges, her voice taunting as she raised her mugs high. Two small barrels were place on the end of it, the coin to challenge her split evenly between the two barrels—one for the Companions and one for the Hanged Man to pay for all the booze that Malika somehow drank without dying—and a stool next to it for whomever it was who had picked the short straw to protect the coin.

Elion was perched on it today, sharp gold-green eyes peering up through bleached blonde hair with gold ink colouring half-his face, with only brief twisting lines that showed a hint of his sun-kissed skin, and twisting into the same pattern lines on the bare half of his face—Elion had told them, with a razor-sharp grin, that it was the symbol of Elgar'nan, the elven God of Vengeance; Varric thought it was fitting as he had never met a more vengeful little shit in his whole life—as his clever long fingers made easy work of carving a new arrow shaft, curled chippings of wood landing just under his leather-clad feet—Varric wasn't sure if it was a Dalish thing or just Elion, but the guy really seemed to love wearing leather.

(Varric, personally, couldn't understand how he was comfortable in full leather when it was pissing buckets of rain outside)

Saya and Ellana were tucked in a corner, their staves leaning behind them in what was meant to be an inconspicuous way—Ellana's looked like a twisting branch, taller than her, with a crystal of some kind gripped in place by a cage of twisting wood bars while Saya's looked more like a scythe with a darkly coloured crystal placed on the other end of the wickedly sharp curved blade. Their heads bent over thick tomes, Saya's gaze shifting up now and again for a watchful scan of the room as Ellana lost herself in words of arcane, long blonde hair braided and pulled back into a bun and dark golden inked thin tree truck went up the bridge of her nose and branched out with thin and twisting branches across her brow and curling around her golden eyes—the symbol of Mythal, the elven God of protection, motherhood and justice according to their new elven friends.

Kiara wasn't in direct sight, but Varric knew where she would be; she would be sat at the table right in front of the fire, Logan at her feet, and dark eyes watchful for those that entered her line of sight and painfully aware of those out of it—most likely with a tankard of ale or cleaning her daggers and short-swords. Varric had yet to meet someone as aware of their surroundings as Kiara was—it spoke of dark times in her past for someone that young to be _that_ paranoid and aware of everything.

Despite the fact that Kiara could easily scare the piss out of him, he actually preferred her company. Malika would either strong-arm him into drinking with her or attempt stick her tongue down his throat—Bianca hadn't pleased and tanned his arse raw after tackling Malika down, Bianca was the reason that Malika's hair was now just brushing her shoulders and a fresh gash curved the side of her face that he was sure was going to leave a scar—and he wasn't close to the other three.

He found her at her normal table, one leg tucked under her, and reading a book—a familiar book.

"Do I want to know how you got that?" his voice was sharp with anger though he had attempted to dampen it with good-humour and Kiara looked up and smirked.

"Not really," she waved to the seat across from her, book—his book—still held firm in hand and he took it making her smirk soften into a smile as she, almost, gently gave it to him. "It's good, really good. You should talk to a publisher."

He snorted, Varric couldn't help it;

"What do you know about books? I thought your talent was for killing things."

His mouth snapped shut with an audible click because he honestly hadn't meant to say that and he looked up at her with almost ashamed brown eyes. She hadn't even flinched though her smile had twisted into something bitter and dark eyes were suddenly much too old for such a young face.

"I wanted to be a writer once," she admitted softly, her fingers absently tapping on the worn table between them. "It wasn't about the coin I would earn, though that would have been a plus. It was because I wanted to tell people stories, amazing stories that made them love the characters and care for their struggles and their suffering like they were real people. I wanted to be a writer that may never become famous but was well-loved by those that read my stories. It was a foolish dream of a child though and I have long since grown up."

He said nothing, Varric loved to talk but he also knew when others _needed _to talk. Some talked better to strangers, some to friends and with Kiara, it was hard to judge which one she considered you.

"I came into the care of some cruel men," there was a twist of disgust and hate so deep that it almost shook Varric, but underneath it was an echo of fear, a fear she remembered and had gotten over—or at least Varric thought and hoped she had gotten over. "They wanted to create a human weapon, and I had the bad luck of being the person they came across. I was just a normal silly little girl before that, enthralled by stories and blinded to the true depth of cruelty of world, I had been sheltered from pain. They taught me the pain I thought I knew was just a paper cut, stinging but unimportant in the end. They taught me true pain.

They beat me, cut me down, until my body was broken and then they would put me back together again before doing all over the next day, and then again the next. Poison put in my blood, flesh carved open, bones broken. I'm still surprised I didn't die under their tender care."

Kiara's face blanked out as her finger interlocked on the table, her gaze distance.

"My body, they broke. My mind? It hasn't truly been the same. And my will? They should broke me into nothing, I was just a simple girl and I should of broke but I didn't," she looked up at him, dark eyes bright with remembered shock and almost elation. "It seemed I had a stronger will than I had known, and that kept me alive. My body could always heal, my mind still worked—perhaps not in the same way nor with the right stability—but it still worked as long as my will remained strong, unbroken, then I could survive.

I let them teach to fight, to kill, and in the end I killed some of them later on with the same skills that they had so thoughtfully taught me. I may have become what they had intended, just not under their will, I am what they made me. But they did not break me," her voice and eyes took a fierce edge then. "They did not break me!"

And Varric understood in that moment, he understood Kiara or what she let him understand. Broken yet strong, hard yet soft, kind yet cruel, indifferent yet caring. Kiara was filled with conflicting traits and finally Varric could understand _why_. Men had attempted to break her, and in way that she probably only dimly acknowledged they had succeed in way, and hadn't broken her.

They had fractured who she was, she had pieced back the pieces and was such different than before, incomplete. Bits of the old her conflicted with the new her—the child and survivor did not co-exist easily.

He could understand the hatred of how the Qun treated the Mages, why Kiara was so protective of Saya despite the fact that the Qunari towered over her and was older than her. Kiara had been caged, been made into a weapon before, and she refused to stand by and let it happen again.

"Kiara was going to be the name of my main character of my first story," she broke him from his thoughts and he looked up at her, confused. "She was strong, beautiful, loyal and ruthless at times—everything I wasn't. But now I'm more like her than I am who I once was, I'm no longer my mother's daughter and I've come to accept that.

But the name Kiara? That helps me remember, helps me mend who I am with who I was in a strange way." She suddenly laughed lightly, a slight tremble to it that he didn't comment on it, and her dark eyes almost shiny as she blinked them at him. "Silly, huh?"

"No," his throat seemed too tight. "It isn't."

* * *

><p><em>We are all liars at the end of the day, even those that value honesty above everything lie. Complete honesty is a foreign concept, pretty and seemingly easy but difficult to near impossible to put into practice. Couples try it all the time, but we still hold bits and pieces of ourselves back, the dark bits that we don't like to acknowledge, the cruelty and indifference that we cringe away from because that's what makes us monsters. <em>

_Logan, Wolverine. He was a man I trusted deeply, I let him see some of my memories because I trusted him everything and yet I still didn't show him everything, I still didn't show Charles/Xavier everything. _

_We lie to cope with what the world throws at us, we lie to deal with the hand that Fate dealt us, we lie to make ourselves feel better, we lie to make ourselves look better, we lie to protect, we lie to hurt. _

_We do it unthinkably, sometimes without meaning, and only later do we realise the lies that we told. Sometimes we believe the lies we tell, we believe them so much that in the end they become a truth._

_A man can look into the mirror and tell himself each day that he is a good man, but at first he isn't a good man until after dozens of telling himself and until he believes it, and parts of him acts according until he is the good man he claim. _

_A woman can look at the man she loves and see him happy with someone else, it hurts so she'll look into a mirror and tell herself that it doesn't hurt, that she doesn't care, and like the man before, eventually that lie will come true. _

_Self-fulfilling prophecies and all that shit—or something like that. _

_Perhaps I'm making sense to you, perhaps I'm not, perhaps I've drunk too much ale with Malika and I'm just rambling without making sense because I'm shit-faced._

* * *

><p>Kirkwall wasn't that much of a shithole, which had honestly surprised Malika because she had only heard crap about it. It was nice enough, enough crime around that they didn't get more than a raised eyebrow when they did a job, had nice taverns, and had a pretty good black market.<p>

She would probably always have a fond spot for Kirkwall now, it was where they had meet Varric and gained two more to their group—their mismatched family. It's where they found some really good stuff and started to build a reputation that would later draw more clients.

But it wasn't somewhere they could stay, because now they had two mages in their group—not that Malika was complaining because she loved Saya and Ellana—and Templars had way too much power and presence for them to settle.

Kiara had been the one that decided they had to leave as the Templars were starting to look at both Saya and Ellana as mages. It should have happened sooner, and perhaps it would have if they didn't have the respect of Low Town, if they hadn't patrolled the area to stop some High Town nobles kicking around some Low Town 'scum' and causing trouble, if they hadn't made sure that certain letters and presents made their way into the Gallows and into the rooms of some mage family member, if they hadn't smuggled a few families with their newly discovered mage children out of Kirkwall with copies of arcane tomes or if they didn't make sure a major crime didn't happen every other night.

It had probably been a tip off from someone that had come across the aftermath of one of their protection or retaliation jobs that always ended up in a battle of some sort, or someone that witnessed one of their grudge-matches between bandits—that thought they could get the better of them—and themselves.

It had been decided that they would be heading for Ferelden next, Kiara's homeland, as Templars were more spread out and they still wouldn't stay in one city or town too long.

Kiara had left Varric with a hawk that would be able to find them if he was ever in trouble—it had a bracelet around one of its skinny legs that matched a bracelet on Kiara which made it so the hawk would always be able to find her.

They had gotten it from the Black Emporium; they also got a collection of paired earrings that did the same thing with the add bonus of telling them the state of health and thus each had four different earrings in their ears that was the matching pair of some else's earrings. Rune magic were totally badass and useful.

She would miss Kirkwall and Varric, but she was right where she was meant to be.

* * *

><p>"Oh shi—"Kiara was half-hanging over the railing, Saya's gripping the tunic under her leather cuirass so she didn't fall into the sea as she retched heavily.<p>

Malika gave a sympathetic groan as Ellana rubbed her back, Malika herself was hanging over the railing with Ellana the only thing between her and a watery grave.

"I'm never making fun of your seasickness again," Malika told her friend seriously and Kiara smiled weakly.

"I'm holding you to that,"

"Whoa!" Elion's voice was too gleeful as he leaned over the side, hands tangled in the riggings. "Look at the waves; up, down, side to side, backwards and forwards."

"I hate you," Kiara told him in a hiss as Malika retched.

Elion just laughed.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: This will go all the way to Inquisition for those that were wondering. Now I have a question for you, one warden story or multi-warden story?<strong>


	7. Chapter 7

"_**We are Couslands, and we must do what needs to be done." – Bryce Cousland.**_

* * *

><p>Highever was one of the most bustling cities of Ferelden, it was one of the trio of port cities and was first most in importing goods into Ferelden as they didn't turn their noses up at trading with Orlais unlike Gwaren and had a good reputation unlike Amaranthine.<p>

It was a hell of a lot different than Gwaren—which had been the port that she had left Ferelden to the Free Marches from—as Highever was filled with bright colours and the air was filled with the happy chattering of accent voices.

Malika had been the first off their ship and was currently kissing the stone harbour and muttering what could be prays to either Andraste or her Paragon while crates of silks and other expensive clothes were catered around her, freshly caught nets of fish were emptied into ready barrels and lids hammered tight before they were rolled or heaved onto strong shoulders and taken off the harbour.

Kiara attempted not to breathe in too deeply, her nose was always too sensitive to the smell of fish, and didn't look down as she walked down the gangplank with Logan bounding in front of her with happy barks—he hadn't been happy about being cooped up on a ship for almost a week. Heights and deep water, not her favourite things in any world.

"Do you realise all of shit, piss, guts and blood that is probably all over the ground you're currently kissing?" Elion asked as he looked down at Malika's form, a slight tension in his lithe frame as his gaze darted towards the crowds circling around them belaying his almost ease-going snarky tone.

Malika tilted her head up and glared up the elf;

"Fuck off,"

"How nice," Elion sniffed though he ruined his insulted image by smirking at the dwarf just as Ellana gripped his arm.

"Ohh, how pretty," her eyes were focused on the various clothes and such that were most likely being taken to warehouses or market. "It's so colourful."

"Not as colourful as Orlais would be," Kiara told her though she agreed that it was rather pretty, shifting her pack higher her back.

It was colourful without being over the top or blinding like Orlais would be, or at least that had been the impressions she had gotten from before and stories as she hadn't actually been to Orlais yet—she didn't fancy getting involved with the Game as she had enough problems as it was.

"Come on," Kiara nudged Malika with her foot. "Let's go off this harbour before we cause a pile up."

Saya said nothing as she followed after Kiara, only pausing to grip the back of Malika's tunic and hauling her up. The dwarf let out a surprised squeal and kicked her booted feet a bit as Saya followed behind their human friend, the crowd making a wide breach for them to walk through and sending shocked, distrusting and slightly fearful of the tall Qunari woman casually carrying a dwarven woman with one hand in their midst, Logan darting from each of their sides before Kiara's hand landed heavily on his large head and calmed him enough that he was content to walk by her side.

* * *

><p><em>Three potential inquisitors though I guess that's not their future fate anymore, like I'm going to let them anywhere near Haven, let alone that doomed Conclave. <em>

_But being around them, three people who held the potential to change the world was odd. I guess, it didn't matter what I want, I'm still going to end up getting involved with all the shit heading to Thedas in the future. _

_Fate likes to bitch-slap people in the face, especially me._

* * *

><p>There was a little girl in the market that drew Kiara's gaze and made her freeze, face blank and eyes staring and Ellana didn't know why, couldn't understand.<p>

She had long wavy dark hair plaited back out of her pretty young face and was wearing a deep blue tunic and dark trousers, an odd look for a noble daughter—and Ellana could tell she was noble from how expensive the fabric looked and how the people reacted to her. Her tunic had hints of gold hemming and stitched over her heart was some sort of symbol—her family crest?

A Knight stood just behind her shoulder, dressed in shining armour with the herald of Highever printed across his chest.

For a brief moment, Ellana entertained the idea that Kiara and the young noble were related but quickly dismissed that. For all her pride, Kiara didn't have the air of a noble and no noble would let their daughter or niece become a mercenary. They also looked nothing alike, the only trait they shared was their dark hair but that didn't mean anything.

"Kiara?" she startled under Ellana's touch, one hand twisting for one of her many blades automatically before blinking at her with large dark eyes. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Kiara told her with ease—but Ellana didn't know if it was the ease of truth or lie as it was hard to tell with Kiara, she could spin lies as easily as she told the truth. "I just thought I knew that girl, I was wrong."

Ellana nodded, not fully convinced, and Kiara's slender fingers linked around her wrist as she directed her towards where she could see Saya standing outside what was hopefully an Inn.

* * *

><p>"We're going to be arrested if we attempt to set up here," Malika groused as she dragged her tankard closer, her legs dangling off the ground because of her lack of height. "It's too damn looked after for the Companions to set up like in Kirkwall."<p>

"Perhaps if we became an honourable group?" Ellana suggested, hands twisting around her goblet of water—Highever seemed to actually have a good supply of clean water so Ellana was happy to seat out the drinking for once. "If we gain respect, like we did in Kirkwall, then they may leave us alone."

"Do you really want to be part of a group that Shem consider honourable?" Elion mocked but he was considering it, it was obvious by the slight frown between his fair eyebrows.

"We are honourable," Saya told them, a frown on her sharp face. "We don't rape, pillage or randomly murder for the sake of it and we don't take just any job that lands in our laps."

"We can't exactly rape even if we wanted too," Malika snorted. "There only one bloke amongst us, it's a bit hard for women to rape someone."

"I don't rape," Elion near snarled, enraged at the thought.

The Dalish had many stories of Shem that decided to rape any unfortunate elves they came across, a disgusting act that shouldn't be done to anyone in Elion's opinion.

"None of us do, and none of us will," Kiara spoke up before they could descend into a fight—and when she said fight, she didn't been a loud row that could get them kicked out but an actual fists flying, hair pulling and teeth biting fight that would get them thrown out. "We do have honour, it's just not what one thinks when they hear the word mercenary."

"Then let's just be a group of warriors," Ellana said. "A group that will help people."

"Those that are willing to pay at least," Malika muttered while Elion snorted; "It almost sounds like you want to turn us into Wardens."

There was a beat of silence around their table as the thought sunk in before Malika was stood on her chair so she could tower over the others.

"No way in all that is holy are we going to be Wardens," the dwarf was a bit pale under the flush of anger. "My Grandpa still has nightmares for fighting against Darkspawn and I've heard some really freaky shit about Wardens, we're not becoming them."

"I think her point was to be like them, Mal," Kiara soothed, one hand resting on Malika's trembling back—Kiara was unsure if it was more anger than fear, if anyone knew about Darkspawn it was the exiled Warrior House. "We're not about to go charging off to fight Blights, kill Darkspawn and save the world. Ella just thinks we should work to gaining almost the same respect of the Wardens—hopefully without getting exiled or hanged for treason."

Malika snorted but settled down;

"Alright then."

"Okay with that plan?" Kiara asked with an amused quirk as Malika nodded easily.

* * *

><p><em>And that was how the Companions started off in Ferelden. We reached out to the other groups in Ferelden; the Mage's Collective, the Red Jenny, the Blackstone Irregulars and even had a passing business with the Crows. <em>

_We smuggled, we made odd pick-ups and down offs, we gave out warnings to apostates—only if they weren't crazy blood mages. We offered protection to caravans for a reasonable sum, we were hired for taking out criminals that were giving guards a hard time to deal with and we hunted down some that had escaped justice—or helped them escape if it wasn't real justice being served._

_We were hired-swords, body-guards, bounty-hunters—anything and everything really, apart from bloodthirsty murderers and rapists and such, and had gained a rather honourable reputation. _

_Perhaps that was why I was so surprised to be brought up in chains._

* * *

><p>He had heard of the Companions over the last few years, a group that had come from the Free Marches apparently, and they didn't actually have a bad reputation for a mercenary group—it seemed that they had honour.<p>

The main core group was only five strong, six if you counted the hound with them, and the rest were merely people who passed on information, requests, that sort of thing. The common people loved them, respected them perhaps more that the Kings' Guards and the Knights that were meant to watch over them because the Companions never took anything at face-value and actually looked into things before they acted—quite a few would-be criminals had missed their date with the hangman's noose or the headsmen's sword because the Companions had found them, found out they were innocent or actually had a pretty reasonable reason for doing said crime and helped them get away.

He had also heard about their leader, the lone human of the group—and wasn't that strange? A Qunari, dwarf, two elves and a human working together in harmony. It took years for some of the Wardens to let go of old ideals and prejudice, and they were grown men and women.

Kiara, that's was what she was called. A woman said to have a quick tongue and quicker blades, and Fereldan according to the rumours. Rumours which they were about to find out if they were true or not.

Duncan glanced at Maric, heavily grey streaked hair—only thirteen years ago had it been the same sunshine blonde of his son—and a weary expression that had only grown more prominent over the years though his back was still as straight and proud as ever as he stood on dais of the main hall of Castle Cousland.

Cailan stood further behind his father, listening to Fergus Cousland whisper words in his ear with a fond grin that was pure Maric and shining grey eyes as he glanced at his old friend. Both of them eighteen, heads bent so dark locks intertwined with light gold. A smirk twisted Fergus' face as Cailan laughed lightly as he placed a friendly hand on Fergus' broad shoulder.

Bryce Cousland stood next to his King, if a little behind, with his youngest, Andra, tucked close to his side as his pup had wanted to stay and see the infamous leader of the Companions and it was clear that the eleven year old had her father wrapped around her little finger with just a look of her bright blue eyes—Bryce's eyes.

Maric hadn't said anything as Bryce, chuckling, agreed to let his little girl stay and only glanced almost longingly—perhaps the King was thinking of Alistair? He was only two years Andra's senior, and seemed further away now he was to become a Templar than he had ever been in Redcliff.

"YOU GOAT FUCKING SONS OF WHORES!" A feminine voice bellowed, a faint shrill tone cracking underneath as a naturally soft-toned voice raised above its normal highest level. "I HAVEN'T DONE ANYTHING! LET ME THE FUCK GO! LET'S SEE HOW YOU HANDLE A WOMAN WITHOUT HER TIED UP, HUH? HOPEFULLY BETTER THAN YOU HANDLE YOUR SWORDS!"

A jeering laughter told them that she may have not just be referring to the guards' actual swords and Bryce, belatedly, clapped his hands over his daughter's ears just as the heavy wooden doors were open and they were greeted with the first sight of Kiara—or what should have been their first sight.

One guard was backing into the hall followed by another two, each holding a struggling leg and each having red marks—obviously coming from a strong kick—on their faces that would bruise wonderfully, and one even had a bloodied nose.

The trio of guards were obviously having trouble as the woman twisted, long legs attempting to rip from their grasps, and insults questioning their parenthood, their manhood and simply cursing them fell with ease from the woman's mouth in an uninterrupted string of words before they simply dropped her without a word in front of the dais and Duncan winced in sympathetic pain as he watched her land heavily on her chained hands—he was certain he heard something pop.

Kiara hissed in pained outrage as she rolled herself on her knees and her head snapped up to glare up at them, dark hair falling out of her face, but she paused as her gaze met the almost amused gaze of King Maric, the slightly unimpressed gaze of Teynir Bryce Cousland, the amused gaze of Warden-Commander Duncan and the trio of interested gazes from Prince Cailan, Fergus and Andra Cousland.

"Well, shit," she grumbled as she made herself comfortable on her knees, blowing strands of dark hair out of her face. "This isn't good."

Duncan almost smiled at her.


	8. Chapter 8

"_**A man is made by the quality of his enemies."- Maric Theirin**_

* * *

><p>Elion had once been a fierce protector of his clan, he had been a skilled hunter and had earned his vallaslin at the young of sixteen through all the blood, sweat and tears he had shed for his clan—the same clan that would turn around the next year when it came out that he preferred the company of other men.<p>

His clan had betrayed him, shunned him, and exiled him just because he preferred someone with a dick and not a pussy and pair of breasts, and that had _burnt_. He had fought for his clan against groups of shem determined to drive off the dirty Dalish, he had killed bandits that thought they could have some fun with a few of their women, he had hunted for them and brought back as much as he could carry more times than he could count in the past for them and all because he liked cock, he suddenly wasn't welcome?

Fine. In Kiara's words, what-fucking-ever. Screw them.

He would have left, angrily and bitterly, on his own and he had been prepared too when Ellana decided that she wasn't going to watch her brother, her gods-given twin and other half of her soul, be banished just because of his sexual preference.

Never before had he seen Ellana angry, but that day she was livid and reminded everyone that Mythal wasn't just the Goddess of Protection but also Justice.

She had stood in front of him, her shoulders squared and her face set in a fearsome scowl as she glared at their clan, at her teacher and their Keeper, as she went for emotional blood. She reminded them of all that Elion had done for them, what he had done for the clan, and she had asked—shouted, screamed, cried—'this was how you are going to repay him?'

The Keeper's face had been set in a disapproving though calm mask as he looked at Ellana—he didn't once look at Elion—and told her in a no nonsense tone that Elion had betrayed them, betrayed all they were fighting for, and Elion had scoffed. How the fuck was being gay—the word that Shem used for men like him—a betrayal?

A fire had burnt in Ellana's golden eyes as she stared them down despite her dainty height. Fire had licked at her clenched fists as she stood trembling in front of them, and for one brief moment, Elion had been afraid that he was about to lose his sister, that a demon would be attracted her and he would have to either strike her down himself or watch it happen before the demon completely devoured her when she had suddenly calmed.

She had told them, voice ever-so-calm, that if what they were fighting for distained any type of love that it wasn't something she would continue to fight for, that the culture and history that she had wanted to remember and fight for had acceptance for all types of love and it was obvious that she wasn't going to find it with them because they were 'more narrow-minded than the Shem that destroyed our homelands'. And as the Keeper reeled back like he was slapped, she had stormed to gather her things, firmly declaring that she was going with Elion no matter what.

They had left, a disgraced hunter and protector and the once-beloved First, and they didn't look back. They had only been on their own for a few weeks when Kiara had stumbled upon them and they helped her return to Saya, Malika and Logan.

It had been as Malika cheered, short arms wrapped around Kiara's hips and Logan bouncing around her with happy barks while Saya laid a relieved hand on Kiara's shoulder that she had turned to them with a kindness in her dark eyes—a kindness that hadn't seen since their clan actually gave a damn about them—and offered the twins a place with them.

The twins didn't even hesitate and again they didn't look back.

Kiara wasn't like most Shems though she disagreed, she wasn't judgement though she argued that she was when Ellana told her that, she had kindness though she argued that she was a ruthless and cruel bitch and she was proud of it.

Kiara, Saya, Ellana and Malika were his clan now, and may the Dread wolf catch those that hurt them before he did for he would show no mercy.

* * *

><p>She was the same age as Cailan, was the first thing that Maric really noticed when she looked up with fierce dark eyes—eyes that took him back almost fourteen years to another young woman with fierce dark eyes—and became startled at the sight of them, or maybe just him, he thought wryly as he watched the light of recognition dawn in those eyes and a hint of caution shadow them as her gaze was drawn over the three men in front of her, only a passing glance was shot at Cailan, Fergus and Andra.<p>

"Well, shit," her voice was naturally soft, if a bit rough from her previous screaming—obviously she wasn't used to screaming threats and insults though she was good at it. "This isn't good."

Her eyes rolled heavenwards, a resigned air about her, as if she was asking the Maker what she had done to deserve this and his lips twitched upwards a bit—from the rumours that he had heard, the answer was quite a bit.

There was a sharpness to her face that was a shared trait amongst common folk as they often didn't have enough coin to buy as much food as they liked or needed, it was a sharpness that his face had held during the Rebellion when they weren't put up by nobles and long before they held Gwaren. Her dark eyes were heavy-lidded with thick curling lashes, giving her eyes a soulful look and would probably bring men to their knees if used against them as a weapon. High cheekbones, thin nose and full lips—she was pretty, beautiful in some peoples' eyes.

But she was young. Eighteen years old and already leading her own mercenary group, a group that she had been leading for the last two years according to rumours and meant she had started the group at sixteen. So young, with some much blood on her hands, and yet she had honour that most in her occupation didn't have.

Kiara didn't look eighteen, not in the way that Cailan and Fergus did as there was a dangerous undertone to even her mildly set features. Her eyes were old, older than even Loghain's eyes, but there was a softness in those earthy tones that Loghain lost long before Rowan died. Silver rings glinted at him from both ears, peeking out of her dark hair, and a cuff clung tight to her left wrist just under the cuff of the manacles. She was dressed in leather and cotton, sensible choices and offering protection—though Maric wouldn't be surprised if she also hid a chainmail vest under that leather cuirass and cotton darkly dyed tunic.

"So," she drawled, balancing herself on her feet, body drawn tight and close. "Is there something I can help you with?"

Bryce raised an eyebrow at her from beside him and Duncan suppressed a grin as she made it sound that they had come to her instead of her being dragged to them in chains.

"We're just settling some curiosity," Maric told her in an attempt to reassure her and she snorted, her eyes rolling;

"Yeah, I totally believe that,"

Her dark gaze darted around the hall, pausing on each guard before returning to the three men in front of her in a considering look that most likely meant trouble.

"No one's going to hurt you or keep you chained up," Maric said before she could come up with a crazy escape plan and dark eyes snapped to him, narrowed almost thoughtfully. "We just have some questions, and you're a very hard woman to find."

"Obviously not hard enough," she snorted before she pulled her arms under feet, chains scraping across the stone floor.

Arms twisting almost unnaturally before Maric cringed as he watched in vivid detail as she popped her thumb out of place with a pained hiss and a bitten lip, her manacle slid over her hand with little fanfare before she popped her thumb back in place and she focused on her other hand.

Maric knew that trick, it was the same one that Duncan used to get out of his chains all those years ago and save them from that talking Darkspawn. He figured it had been a matter of pride, or an act of defiance, that had stopped her from asking to be unchained.

"Wow," Andra had slipped her father's grip and was now peering at Kiara's red wrists as Kiara flexed her hands in discomfort. "How did you do that?"

"With a lot of pain," Kiara bluntly replied with a grimace as Bryce hissed; "Andra,"

The young noble didn't even glance back at her father, fixing intense blue eyes on Kiara.

"Then why did you do that?" she frowned at the older woman. "Wouldn't have been easier to ask for the key or to be unchained?"

"Kid, I'm going to give a pearl of wisdom," Kiara sighed after sending a glance at Bryce. "There isn't always an easy way to do things."

"I'm not a kid," Andra told her affronted, a flush of anger working its way up her fair cheeks and Kiara smirked.

"Honey," her voice was dry as the Western Fronts' deserts as she replied. "Anyone younger than me is a kid."

Before Andra could argue against that again, Bryce scooped her up in his arms.

"Father!" she squealed and glared over her father's shoulder when she heard Fergus laugh.

"Pup," Bryce sighed, more exasperated than angry and Maric smiled slightly, if a little sadly—was Alistair as curious as the youngest Cousland?

"In trouble again?" Fergus laughed as Andra stuck her tongue out at him and something twisted in Maric's chest—would have Cailan and Alistair acted like that if he had kept Alistair? It was something he would never know.

He glanced back at Kiara, who had made herself comfortable on the hard stone floor, and felt a shiver of uneasy go down his spine at the knowing, almost sympathetic, look in her eyes as she looked at him.

"You still haven't told me what you want, y'know?" she only seemed slightly annoyed by the fact and Duncan smiled at her—so different from his almost carefree grin from years past, Maric couldn't help but note.

"You're here to settle the curiosity of a King," he reminded and she shot him a look.

"Right," she began dryly. "The King of Ferelden just happened to decide to come to Highever and meet with a member of the Companions"—"Aren't you the leader?" Cailan's question was boldly ignored—"so asked the Teynir to send his men out to find me, ambush me when I was about to have lunch, chain me up and take all my blades," she turned to glare at some of the guards, "blades I spent a lot of coin on, I may add."

The guards didn't even twitch under her glare.

"Just because said King happened to be curious?" she snorted then, as inelegant as the other snorts that she had issued and tossed her hair back with an irate flick of her head. "You're sh—"she paused as she caught sight of Bryce's warning stare and Andra's curious gaze for a moment before continuing, a hint of annoyance tinting her words. "You're kidding me, right?"

"No, that seems about right," Maric said with a nod and she rolled her eyes at him.

"I don't believe you,"

"It's true,"

"Still sounds like bulls-stone,"

"Bulls-stone?" Cailan repeated to Fergus making both young men snigger slightly and she shot them an annoyed glare.

Loghain would hate her, Maric thought. And he would also like her at the same time as she didn't seem to care about noble titles, something that Loghain still distained though he was considered a noble himself.

"You said they took you as you were about to have your lunch?" Maric decided to cut in and she gave him a narrowed-eyed look.

"Yes," she said softly.

"Perhaps we should have lunch now," Maric mentioned almost casually to Bryce who nodded, a hand waving at one of his guards who bowed as he left. "You'll join us, yes?"

"Do I have a choice?" she raised her dark eyebrows and he smiled.

"Not really,"

She plastered an overly happy and sweet smile on her face and batted her lashes at him.

"Then I would love to, your Highness,"

Duncan attempted to change his laughter into a cough—it didn't work.

* * *

><p>There was something uncomfortable about sitting at the same table as the King, his crowned Prince, a Teynir and his two children as well as a Warden-Commander. Though she couldn't think of why it would be so uncomfortable.<p>

She ripped a small bit of bread off her bread and popped it in her mouth as she watched the group across from her.

The Teynira wasn't there, she had noticed when servants had brought in food and set it up on the table already in the main hall. From what she remembered of Eleanor Cousland, she wouldn't be too pleased that her children were at the same table, breaking bread even, with a renowned criminal.

And by everyone's definition, she was a_ criminal_. That thought, that label, would have once upset her but that was before, before she went through Hell on earth, before she was pushed to breaking and didn't break. Anyway, crime paid better. It was a sad fact, but true.

She could have gone into the army, she supposed but she knew that the army was basically under the complete control of Loghain—and no matter what well-reasoned arguments that she had read in forums, she still hated the guy and thought he was insane—and that wasn't something she wanted.

As a mercenary and one in her own group, she could choose what jobs she wanted to do—most of the time anyway—and that gave her more freedom than some mercenaries out there. It was also a simple fact that she was good at what she did, and what she did was fight people and then kill them. Bucky had taught her well and she had become even better over the years.

"Is it true that you killed High Dragon?" Andra asked, eyes bright and wide as she stared at Kiara and something in her twisted at the sight because she knew what would befall upon her.

Kiara may have no liked kids exactly, but she hated the thought of this innocent youth either being slaughtered by Howe or tasked with defeating the Blight. It wasn't a fate that she would ever wish on anyone, and never on any kid.

"No," Kiara said, a bit amused as how Andra's face fell in disappointment and ignoring the morbid thoughts attacking her mind. "We've just had some run-ins with dragonlings, not as scary but almost as annoying as they attack in swarms."

She had a nice long coat made of dragonlings scales and long boots—like Isabela's boots in DA2.

"Really?" Andra asked, looking impressed and Kiara almost smiled—she had almost forgotten how easily impressed kids could have be.

"Yep," she confirmed with a nod, her gaze drifting back to Fergus and Cailan.

Once she had been ridiculously oblivious to certain things when it came to herself—to the pained amusement of her friends—but she had always been good at watching people. Fergus and Cailan exchanged little touches, which lingered just the slightest too long, they shared secret smiles and soft looks.

She wondered if this was the reason that Cailan waited so long to marry Anora. She certainly had never expected this.

She paused in her shredding of a chicken breast as one of her earrings warmed in warning and almost groaned.

It seemed that Elion had noticed that she was missing and he was _pissed_.


End file.
